Only Survivor
by homesickthug
Summary: I wrote this a couple years ago and got asked to update but never did because life. I took it down and wanted to redo it and change certain things. There is a massacre on the subway and Flack takes interest in the only survivor, a homeless mentally unstable 18 year old, and takes it upon him to take care of her.
1. Chapter 1

I sat on the subway unsure of where I was going. Maybe Harlem or East Brooklyn. I'm a runaway, from Lil Haiti, Miami. I always wanted to come to New York, figured I could get away from all my problems and all the street violence. A poor white girl with an eating disorder and self harm problems in the hood is never a good mix.

People think because you're in the hood and you're trying to survive that you don't have these problems. They're idiots.

I like the subway, I can stare out the windows and get lost in my music. I turn my head beside me and I see an older women. She has dark skin and cornrows.

She's leaning on a cane and trying to keep her eyes open. I wonder what her story is. Out of the corner of my eye I see two guys cross into our car. I've always been too afraid to go between those parts of the train. One of the men is white, his head bald and the phrase "white pride" tattooed on his neck. There was a swastika on the back of his head. He was carrying, and it wasn't your average handgun from the looks of it.

The other man's Hispanic, which is ironic if they're working together. He has average brown hair and is smaller than the white guy. They see me eyeing them and I quickly look away, pulling one of my earbuds out so I can be alert of the situation.

"Everyone remain silent and no one gets hurt," said the white man pulling out a semiautomatic that was hidden in his heavy coat.

That's the biggest lie any shooter says, especially with that kind of weapon. I began examining the car. There is an infant in her mother's arms, who is trying not to weep. There is an Asian college kid bobbing his knee up and down quickly. There are 3 homeless men in the corner.

"5. 4. 3. 2..." It was the Hispanic man counting. "1"

That all too familiar sound fills the car as I dart down to the floor. The women beside me has been hit so I quickly roll over into her blood pool making it seem like I was dead as well.

There are screams of innocent lives being ended. The infant isn't crying and I hope it's because he's too scared to. It took me a bit to realize the train had stopped. I kept my eyes shut, not daring to open them until I know the men are gone. This isn't the first time I've been in this situation, and you'd think I'd be more afraid than I am. Even though my heart is pounding hard enough to break through my chest, I'm not that scared. I'm not afraid to die, but I'm also not about to put a target on my back.

I try to make my breathing as small as possible, but whenever I focus on breathing, I always feel like I'm not getting enough air. But lack of oxygen isn't the only thing that makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

"NYPD" I hear a New York accent scream. "Clear." I open my eyes and look up.

"We got a live one!" Yells a tall lean man running over to me.

"We need EMS fast."

"I'm okay," I whisper.

"I'm Detective Don Flack, you've been shot."

"No," I whispered sitting up. There was blood all over me, dripping off my face and painting my arms. My ripped jeans stayed somewhat clean even though there was a bit of spatter, and my shirt was fucking soaked.

"We need EMS now... What's your name?"

"JJ"

"Okay JJ where were you hit?"

"I wasn't, I... I rolled into her blood pool when I heard gunshots."

"Stand up," said detective Flack helping me up. I was covered in blood on the entire front of my body.

"Hey Mac I got 7 DOA's and one survivor," he said into the walkie talkie.

"Copy I'm coming down now."

"How old are you?" Asked the Detective.

"I'm uh 18."

"Flack. Damn what happened?" Asked another man about the same age as the Detective except a little shorter.

"I don't know, we have one survivor. This is JJ. Come on let's go get you cleaned up. I need to take your statement."

I nodded following him out of the subway car.

"Mac, do you have an extra shirt?" Asked Detective Flack.

"Is she the only survivor?"

"Yeah I'm taking her to get cleaned," he turned to me, "do you want to change?"

I nodded, "please."

"Were gonna have EMS look at you first it shouldn't take too long." I nodded.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" I nodded again. There was something about the Detective, I'm not exactly sure what, but something makes me feel like I can trust him. We went up the escalator, through the gate, and to the ambulance.

"Only survivor, her name is a JJ. She said she wasn't shot but I still want you to check her out." I sat down in the ambulance.

"JJ, that's a cool name," the doctor said in a calm voice, trying to comfort me while he did his examination. I tried my best not to resist, but for one, I don't like people touching me, especially my stomach and chest area, and two, my body isn't exactly something I'm confident about.

I didn't respond to his statement, unsure exactly how to respond to that. Thanks? I guess? I'm really not sure, so I just sat there silently, only making eye contact with the sidewalk in front of me.

"Are you from New York?"

I shook my head. "Where are you from" he asked looking at my scars, checking them to see if they were infected.

"I was raised in Lil Haiti, then went to Atlanta for a bit."

"What brings you to New York?" He was cleaning the blood off me. Detective Flack was a few feet away looking to make sure I was okay.

"I'm chasing dreams."

"How old are you?"

"18"

He looked at me softly and bandaged up newer cuts. "How much do you weigh?"

Again I didn't respond. He smiled at me softly. "Detective," he said signalling for Flack to come over.

"How is she?" He asked.

"She has no injury from the shooting. But I will need to escort her to the hospital."

"Why?" He asked looking at me. I bit my lip.

"She is a harm to herself. You can take her statement but I need for her to go to the psych ward." Flack was stoic.

"Can I take her to get some coffee, talk to her, and I will personally escort her to the hospital."

The EMS guy thought for a moment, "ask Detective Taylor, that should be fine."

Flack nodded picking up his cell phone. "Mac hey, our witness needs to go to the hospital... No she is not injured from the shooting but she needs to undergo a psych eval... Yeah I was asking if I could first get her statement, you know talk to her, then I will personally take her to the hospital... No I don't know if she has any. Okay thanks Mac."

Flack smiled at me, "let's go get some coffee after you're all wrapped up."

I looked at him and tried to smile back. I got up once bandaged and changed and followed the Detective to his car.

"So you're from Miami?" I nodded.

"Where's your family?"

I didn't answer. He looked at me sympathetically then moved his attention back to the road.

"Where do you want to get coffee?"

"Where ever you want."

The rest of the drive was silent. Detective Flack seemed like such a nice person, but I'd do anything to not be put in the hospital. For one, I don't have money, and I'm not exactly sure of the laws in this state regarding mental health and those who cannot afford treatment. I'm not about to fork over cash I don't have to sit in a hospital I'm not about to get help from.

Not that I really want help.

I've been on my own for the past 9 years, I've survived this long, I'm not about to kill myself, I can take care of myself. I don't need to sit in a room with people that deem whether or not I'm sane after a few days of heavy medication and 'therapy'. Everyone copes their own way, and sure mine isn't as healthy as others, but you do what you got to do.

Detective Flack and I arrived at a small coffee shop down the street from the scene and stood in line.

"What do you like in your coffee?" Asked the Detective.

"I just want a diet soda, here let me give you some money," but he cut me off before I had the chance to take off my backpack.

"Nah don't worry about it," he said smiling.

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. After we got our drinks we sat down at a table in the corner facing each other.

"So JJ, you wanna tell me what happened?"

I took a sip of my soda. "I was just sitting on the train when I saw these men come into our car. They started shooting so I fell to the floor, and once I saw the women beside me had been killed, I rolled over into her blood."

"Can you describe the two men?"

"One was white, a buffer guy maybe 6'1. He had white pride tatted on his neck and a swastika on the back of his head. The other guy was a little smaller and Hispanic. Brown hair, no tattoos"

"Could you ID them in a line up?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'll end up overthinking it, though."

Flack nodded, "do you have anywhere to stay?" I didn't respond.

"How long have you been on your own?"

"My mom left when I was 9. I usually stay on the subway and sleep there because it's warm. But I get kicked out sometimes so I go to a 24 hour place and hang there."

"Do you have a job?"

"I play guitar at the station."

"Where's your guitar?"

"Fuck I must have left it on the train."

"It's evidence now but you'll get it back once the case is solved as long as it doesn't have important evidence." I nodded.

"How long have you been cutting?"

I was silent for a moment. Generally this was not something I talked about for multiple reasons. Hospitals aren't fun, and generally people give you that 'oh there are people with bigger problems.' Never mind that I've been homeless since I was 9.

"Since I was 9." He nodded.

"I have to take you to the hospital. Have you ever been inpatient before?"

"Yea, but its fucking awful. I'm not a threat to myself. The EMS guy said I was physically fine. I really don't need to be in a hospital."

Flack looked up, thinking. "What if I have one of my guys check you out, and see what he has to say?"

I sighed then nodded, figuring it was better to have someone Detective Flack trusted talk to me rather than some lady at the hospital that would probably judge me.

"Alright let me call him and see how he wants to do this."

I smiled, grateful that Detective Flack wasn't like everyone else. Wasn't like those cops that take a look at me and figure I'm a criminal or another nuisance or that I'm a freak because my arms are trailed with purple scars. Grateful that for once, someone actually gave a shit, and wanted to help me.

Grateful that finally, fucking finally, someone cared.


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Flack took me to his precinct and waited with me to an interrogation room. I sat quietly and played on my phone, yes I have a phone. Contrary to popular belief, you can be homeless and still have nice things.

Well, my phone is really the only nice thing I have, but that's beside the point. You'd be surprised how much money you make playing guitar, and truth, sometimes I sell dope on the side, but that's not something Detective Flack needs to be aware of.

My phone isn't a name brand smart phone, but a smart phone none the less. I buy prepaid cards at the store for service.

And I'm not a 'lazy' homeless person. It's quite difficult to get a _real_ job while homeless. They require an address I don't have, a social security number I don't know, and for me to be somewhat presentable.

I shake my head at the thought of ignorant people and look up to the black window. I haven't really looked my reflection, like _really_ looked at it. Damn, I didn't realize how awful I looked. My cheeks are hollow, or maybe it's just the reflection, I'm not really sure. There are bags under my eyes, considering I haven't had a good night's sleep since a few weeks back at the shelter. I'm pale as hell, almost ghostly, but again it could be the reflection, I'm not sure. But what I am sure of is that my braids need to be redone at some point or another. I'm sure I need a shower as well, but even before I was homeless that wasn't exactly something I enjoyed. Bad things happened in there as a kid, and being naked makes me feel vulnerable.

I moved my attention when the door opened. A man walked in with a kit and a soft smile.

"Flack," he said smiling to Detective Flack.

"JJ this is Sheldon Hawkes, he's a CSI. Formly a doctor and used to be a medical examiner."

"Yea, but I wanted to be in the field," he said with a grin.

I smiled back at him. He sat on the table with his legs hanging to the side and his kit beside him while I sat in a chair.

"So what's exactly happening?" Doctor Hawkes asked.

"She's the only survivor from the train massacre. She was cleared physically by EMS but they insisted taking her to the hospital for a psych eval. I figured it'd be better for you to check her out rather than someone at Trinity."

Hawkes looked to Flack, "does Mac know?"

Flack smiled, "Sheldon, of course not."

Hawkes cocked an eyebrow then looked to me. "So JJ, wanna tell me what happened?"

"Um... I was on the train during the shooting."

Hawkes turned his attention back to Flack, "there's more going on here isn't there?"

Detective Flack sighed, "she has some mental health issues. Cutting."  
Doctor Hawkes looked back to me, "mind if I see?"

I thought for a moment, questioning whether or not I could trust him, but Detective Flack gave me an encouraging nod so I rolled up my sleeves. Doctor Hawkes was not shocked, he didn't flinch or make a disgusted face, but instead lightly ran his thumb over the scars. They ran in all directions up and down both arms to my elbows and back. I've had people ask if i was mauled by an animal, or if my arms had gotten stuck in a propeller of some sort.

I can't really blame them for having such abstract explanations. Mutilating yourself isn't exactly what most people think of. Or maybe it is but it's not something they feel comfortable contemplating or acknowledging.

Either way, Doctor Hawkes did not look at me with shame or disgust, but instead offered me eyes filled with both sympathy and comfort.

He offered a warm smile, "when did this start?"

I shrugged, "when I was 9."

Sometimes I forget how nonchalantly I refer to things like cutting and suicide. I don't even realize it until I notice someone being caught off guard.

But again, Doctor Hawkes did not flinch or seem angry or anything like that.

"What do you use?"

"Straight razor."

Hawkes sighed, "you're lucky none of these are infected."

Again I shrugged, pretty apathetic. It's not like I _don't_ clean them, I do, but I wouldn't really care if they got infected. Same with today on the train, it's not like I _didn't_ try to protect myself, I did, but I really wouldn't have cared that much if I had been killed.

I guess death has always been such an odd concept.

Doctor Hawkes moved to examine my small frame, contemplating whether I'm truly sane enough to be outside of a padded room.

After a moment he spoke, "do you have anywhere to stay?"

I cocked an eyebrow, "define stay."

Before Hawkes had a chance to speak Detective Flack interrupted him, "I'll take care of it."

And before I even had a chance to argue, Detective Flack interrupted me, "not up for negotiation."

Hawkes smiled, "alright, well, Flack make sure she gets a good meal tonight and going forward," he turned to look to me, "I don't need a scale nor to take your blood to know that you're both underweight and malnourished."

I took a deep breath and nodded, understanding his point of view. I doubt he knows I feel more powerful and strong when I go to bed hungry, but that's a different issue for a different day.

Hawkes turned back to Flack, "I wanna see her again next week."

Detective Flack smiled, "no problem."

It was silent for a moment, but someone had to ask the million dollar question, "um where exactly am I going?" My voice came out far quieter than I intended it too.

"I got a good friend that owes me a favor. He'll take good care of you."

I looked at him questioningly, but for some reason something inside me is telling me I can trust him. That little voice may also be fueled by the desire of a good night's sleep, but that's beside the point.

Hawkes stood up, grabbed his kit, and turned to me then Flack, "I'll see her next week."

Hawkes offered me yet another smile before leaving the room.

"A friend of mine, Terrance, he owes me and he'll take good care of you."

I smiled, "thank you, you really don't have to."

Flack put his hand up, "no, you just survived a mass shooting, it's the least I can do. He stays over in the Bronx. I've already called him, so you don't need to worry."

I smiled, feeling pretty guilty about the whole situation. I really don't want to be a bother and I don't want to force anyone to babysit me. I'm grown, I've been grown for the past 9 years, I can fend for myself. The last thing I want to be is a nuisance.

Its as if Detective Flack read my mind, "whatever you're thinking. Stop, it's okay, let someone take care of you for once."

I had no room to argue with Detective Flack. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate everything he is doing, I just can't help but feel guilty. I don't deserve this.

But I went ahead and smiled at Detective Flack, hoping he understands how grateful I am.

He's the first person in my entire life to actually care, to actually do something to help me. And I get this vibe that he's not doing this because he feels sorry for me, but because for some reason, he genuinely cares.

This is a very new concept that I find difficult to wrap my brain around, which is probably why I've stayed silent, because I really don't know what to say.


	3. Chapter 3

I had yet to explore the neighborhood Terrance lived in. I may have passed by it on the train, but that's all I can think of. It wasn't too shabby though. His apartment building rested at the very end of Franklin Boulevard.

Detective Flack lead me to the back entrance where we met Terrance. He was a tall man with thin dreadlocks that fell to his shoulders. He was tatted up and down his arms, and wore a pair of blue jeans and a falcons jersey. He extended a tender smile, which for some odd reason, made my heart flutter faster than it had on the train.

"I'm Terrance," he introduced, putting his hand out for me to shake.

"JJ," I replied joining my hand to his. We were opposite in practically every aspect: his dark skin contrasting with my ghostly transparent, his hands large my hands small, his hands warm my hands cold as ice. Yet for some reason I couldn't shake the idea that we weren't really that different.

Our hands stayed together a few beats longer than the average introductory shake, but he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Take care of her, I'll be by later to check on her."

Terrance grinned, "you know I got you Flack."

"Terrance, make sure she eats too. And not just Ramen, she needs actual food."  
Terrance rolled his eyes, "don't worry Flack, I'll take good care of her."

Detective Flack turned to me, "I'll be back tonight."

I smiled, "thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

Detective Flack waved both me and Terrance off, and he turned to meet my gaze with a grin.

"Come on boo, let's get you some food, and imma redo your braids too."

I couldn't help but smile at the fact that he called me boo. I trailed behind him up two flights of stairs to his apartment.

It was pretty nice actually, nicer than the one I grew up in. From the looks it was a one bedroom one bath with a spacious living room and a kitchen in the far left corner. He had a the couch already pulled out into a bed, in front of that stood a coffee table and a TV.

He grinned, "please make yourself at home. Flack ordered that you eat a real meal, whatchu want? I have soup, microwavable meals, sandwiches..."

"Whatever's easiest."

Again with a lopsided grin he spoke, "how about grilled cheese and soup?"

I shrugged, my heart still fluttering, "okay, let me come help."

He waved me off, "nah don't even worry. Go sit on the bed, make yourself at home. Turn on the TV to whatever. It'll only take a few minutes."

"You sure?" I asked, feeling a bit guilty. It's one thing for Detective Flack to help me out, even though that's not something I would ever expect from anyone, but none the less he found me at the scene, so it's one thing for him to help me since I'm his only witness.

But its entirely different scenario for Terrance to be helping me out. He doesn't even know me, and I know Detective Flack said he owes him a favor, but you'd figure he'd choose to anonymously narc or give up more important information. You wouldn't think taking in a homeless witness would be on the spectrum of doing someone a favor.

I sat down on the pull out couch and turned on the TV. It turned onto BET and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air was on. I smiled, I haven't seen this show in ages, but it's always been one of my favorites.

After about ten minutes Terrance came back with two sodas, two bowls of soup, and two sandwiches. He sat down next to me on the bed, placing the food on the coffee table.

"It's not gourmet but it's better than ramen," he commented, his grin becoming more and more adorable.

Did I just use the word adorable to describe him?

I guess that's one way to put it, but I can't really think of another way to describe him besides adorable.

"Thank you," I said smiling and taking a sip of the soda. He dug right into his food, and I sat their ripping apart the pieces trying to find the inner courage to force it down my throat. I didn't want to be rude by not eating, but all the same I didn't want to be rude by eating. If I ate I feel like I'd be getting too comfortable and imposing on the situation, but at the same time if I didn't eat, that as well could be seen as disrespectful. My mind is a fucking mess.

I ripped the sandwich in half, and ripped one half into fourths.

He turned his attention from Will Smith to me, "you gotta eat, I promised Flack."

I took a deep breath smiling, "I am, I'm just a slow eater."

He patted me on the back, "take your time, just finish what you can."

He tried not to show his shock from the feel of my back, but it coated his face with worry, but he chose not to comment on it.

I took a bite of the sandwich and he smiled.

"So how old are you, where are you from? Tell me about you."

I smiled, I honestly don't think I've ever smiled this much before. "I'm 18 and I've been on my own since I was 9. I was born and raised in Miami but spent some time in Atlanta then decided to make my way up here. What about you."

"22, been on my own since I was about 16 and I'm a born and raised New Yorker. Where do you usually stay?"

"Generally on the train unless they kick me off, and when that happens I go to Waffle House or some other 24 hour place and order a soda so they can't tell me to leave."

"You work?" he asked slurping at his soup. He got some on his chin and I couldn't help but laugh, adorable is definitely the adjective to describe Terrance.

"Here," I said giggling and handing him a napkin.

He grinned, "thanks. So do you work though?"

"Yea, well sort of. I play guitar at the stations and places with tourists and what not. I bring in a good amount of change. Enough to live on."

"Where's your guitar?"

"I guess its evidence, I don't really know. What about you, do you work?"

He nodded, dipping his sandwich into his soup, then taking a bite, "Yea, I manage a record store down the street and pick up shifts at a smoke shop."

"You like music?"

"Yea, you?"

I nodded, pulling my phone from my pocket, "old school hip hop is dope. I don't mind some newer shit, but most of it ain't deep like old school was."

His smiled showed he was impressed, "what artists?"

I swallowed a piece of the sandwich and counted off the artists on my fingers, "Bone Thugs, NWA, Pac, Big, D12, Eminem, and all them. I love Proof from D12, I miss him."

He raised his eyebrows approvingly, "damn. What about newer shit? Or at least artists that haven't been killed off yet."

I laughed, "I love Ludacris, I knew his song Runaway Love by heart within the week it came out. Nas is good too, and Immortal Technique. Akon is one of my guilty pleasures too. I like a couple TI songs but he kind of gets on my nerves, and Dre's new album was pretty dope."

He patted me on the back again, but this time his eyes didn't go wide in shock, but instead left his hand there a tad bit longer than one normally would, and let his lips grin ear to ear.

"We're a lot alike you know, we're gon get along great."

There's something about him, something I would never admit, but something about him that makes me feel safe. Makes me feel like maybe I have a chance at life, that maybe, even though I've been through hell, that things can work out one day.

Terrance finished his food, then looked down to my plate, "alright fam, you've had two bites. Dip some of the sandwich in the soup."

I did as instructed with a smile, and dipped the sandwich in the soup, chewed and swallowed. The feeling of the food running down my throat and falling towards my stomach made my chest fill with panic, and I tried to ignore it, but I felt this massive amount of self hate wash over me. And right on que Terrance noticed, and put his arm around me, "I knew a girl that had trouble eating. Just do what you can, and we'll figure out what next tomorrow. A blunt or two might be what you need."

I snorted, "You and me both man."

He grinned, standing up and taking his dishes to the kitchen, and then strolled back to the living room.

"You got family?" he asked sitting down beside me, his legs crossed.

I shook my head, "Nah, my mom left when I was 9. I don't really know where she went, but I knew she wasn't coming back so I packed my shit and left. What about you?"

"Nah, dad bailed when I was a kid and my mom told me to get lost. I guess I reminded her too much of my dad, but I didn't really mind getting tossed out."

"You got a lot of people in New York?"

He shook his head, "not really. I've done better on my own. I used to deal but Flack helped me get out of the game, that's why I owe him. He's the reason I'm not in jail and just on probation."

I nodded, "we all do what we gotta do in order to get by."

"Yea," he said looking and forth between me and my food, gesturing for me to eat without saying a word.

Once I took another bite he spoke, "finish half the sandwich, and after I'll do your braids."

"You really don't have to-" but before I could say anything else, he interrupted me, "cornrows don't take that long and I like braiding."

He must have gotten the whole nonnegotiable mind set from Detective Flack.

He gave me an encouraging and I washed down half the sandwich with the soda, anxiously picking my nails in response.

"Imma put this in the fridge for later okay? Start taking your braids out and I'll help you in a sec."

I honestly have no fucking clue as to what is going on. He doesn't have to help me with my braids and didn't have to make me food, so I'm having a pretty difficult time wrapping my brain around why he's doing this, since Flack really had only instructed him to let me stay here.

"Stop overthinking it," he said coming back to the living room.

Damn, do folks in New York have mind reading powers those in the south didn't inherit?

He sat behind me and started helping me with my hair, "JJ, you and I are a lot alike. We both come from hard situations. I had someone help me get on my feet, so it's okay for you to get some help too."

I smiled, suddenly feeling like I could tell him what was going on inside my head, "I'm really not tryna be a bother."

He slapped my arm playfully, "don't even go there. You're not in the least bit a bother."

I bit my lip debating on whether or not I should ask the questions that are running through my head.

For some reason, I just feel like I can trust Terrance. It's not the kind of trust I feel for Detective Flack, it's different. Almost more intimate.

I sighed, "you don't have to do this, and I just feel bad. Detective Flack just told you to let me stay here, he didn't tell you to do all this extra stuff."

He stopped undoing my hair, put both hands on my shoulders, and moved his head 2 inches from my ear, "I don't feel like I have to do anything, I want to."

His warm breath left goosebumps on my skin. I swear since the moment him and I shook hands, my heart has been fluttering. But with the current situation at hand, intimacy should be the last thing on my mind.

We both watched TV while he worked on my hair. There was no awkward silence- we were both comfortable with the presence of one another and the TV. I've never felt so at home, I've never felt this sense of belonging. I've never felt so at peace.

By the time my hair was finished it was around 9, and I felt my eyes start to droop. The idea of a good night's sleep mixed with overbearing exhaustion and an uncomfortably full stomach is probably why I found myself curling up in the corner of the pull out couch, trying my best to keep my eyes open.

But my exhaustion overpowered my will to stay awake, and for the first time in weeks I felt myself fall asleep.

For the first time in years, i genuinely felt safe.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt at home.

 _Flack came back to Terrances apartment about an hour after JJ had fallen asleep. Terrance smiled at her, how at peace she looked. He turned the TV down low and covered her with a blanket, waiting for Flack to come back by._

 _Once he did they both stepped into the hallway, leaving the door open a crack._

" _How is she?" Flack asked ._

 _Terrance grinned, "she's good she's sleeping."_

" _Did she eat?"_

" _She managed half a grilled cheese."_

 _Flack sighed not very satisfied with that, "one of the CSI's that checked her out earlier decided he wanted to see her again. You mind taking her to the precinct."_

 _Terrance was skeptical, "Flack, I can't be hopping up and down in that area. I'm not in the game but still."_

 _Flack understood, "could he come by here?"_

 _Terrance thought for a moment then nodded, "yea that should be fine, I don't work tomorrow. Tell him to come through the back."_

" _Thank you."_

 _Terrance sighed happily, "Nah don't even worry about it man, we click."_

 _Flack patted him on the shoulder, "alright man, I'll come back by tomorrow around the same time. Doctor Hawkes should be here around 10 am."_

" _Alright bet, night Flack."_

 _Terrance turned back into his apartment, JJ still curled up and sleeping peacefully. He grinned, she was cute when she slept. He locked the door, turned off the lights, covered her with another blanket, and went to his room a few feet from the couch, making sure to leave his door cracked in case JJ were to need something._

 _He slept peacefully, holding on tightly to the idea that hopefully JJ would be apart of his life._


	4. Chapter 4

If Terrance hadn't woken me up once Doctor Hawkes came to his place, I probably would have slept for a few days.

Once my blurred sleep vision cleared, I noticed Terrance standing next to Doctor Hawkes, holding a bowl of cereal, and talking quietly.

"What time is it?" I asked while stretching my arms above my head.

"It's about 10, sorry to wake you. I just needed to check up on you," Hawkes replied with a smile, while setting down his backpack to the floor.

"Yall really don't need to be wasting your time on me," I said, still curled up with two blankets draped over me.

"You're not wasting anyone's time," Hawkes assured, smiling and sitting down next to me on the bed. "Terrance told me you only managed half a sandwich last night."

I shrugged while he went to take my blood pressure, "I just got full."

Terrance smiled, trying to hide his worry and waited for Hawkes to speak. "JJ, you're probably not going to like this, but I need to put you on a feeding tube, because you might end up in the morgue if you keep this up."

Terrance spoke, hardly letting Doctor Hawkes finish his sentence, "I know it's hard for you to eat, so maybe this will make things easier," he reasoned, coming to sit on the couch next to Doctor Hawkes.

I sighed and looked at the bowl of cereal, I've never been on tubes before but from what I've heard they're absolute hell.

"What if I eat the cereal?" I asked, attempting to do what I could to avoid inevitable.

Doctor Hawkes shook his head, "no, at this point, you're body is still very ill, and refeeding is the best way to nurse your body back to health."

He undid the blood pressure cuff, put it back in his backpack, and pulled out a scale.

"Knowing your weight will also let me know how long you will need to stay on the tubes."

I nodded pulling the blankets closerwhile my knees rested against my chest. Terrance tossed an arm around my side and gave an encouraging smile, "I have a shirt you can change into, it should be long enough so you don't feel exposed."

I smiled at him, "thanks."

He grinned and then stood up to go to the bedroom. I looked over to Doctor Hawkes, "um, who's paying for this?" I asked rather confused. All of my questions regarding the situation all went back to the single question at the core of everything, why? Why are these folks helping me? Why are these folks taking care of me? I know Terrance explained his reasoning, but I'm still having a difficult time wrapping my brain around everything.

Hawkes smiled, "I used to work at a hospital and they help me out here and there. So don't worry about it okay?"

I nodded, feeling relieved that they weren't spending money on me. Even though I had a good bit of doe in my bag, it would be nowhere near enough to cover the costs of a feeding tube.

Terrance came back with a long black T-shirt that said "Property of Eastside 1997."

He smiled at me and tossed the shirt, "I know you love Pac but we gotta represent East coast," he said.

I chuckled a bit, "You know the whole East Coast West coast shit was all media?"

Terrance nodded, "I know, but this is New York, it don't matter."

I continued to smile and turned to Doctor Hawkes when he began to speak, "go and change into that and come back out, we'll weigh you out here."

I nodded, trying to keep my mind off the fact that I'll be at my most vulnerable in just a long T-shirt. I stood up off the bed a bit too quickly and felt the room begin to spin. Everything went black and I felt myself fall back onto the couch, my head dazed and brown splotches dancing in front of me.

"Shit," Terrance said, jumping over next to me and helping me to a sitting position beside him.

Doctor Hawkes followed, bent on his knees in front of me and sighed, "okay how about we keep you sitting down for a bit."

I nodded, which wasn't the best decision. I felt Terrance put his arm around my shoulder, "you're okay."

My eyes met with Doctor Hawkes, his eyes big and brown with worry and patience followed by a comforting smile that most doctors learn to acquire.

"We'll keep you on the tube only until your body has enough strength okay?"

I nodded, this time not feeling as sick in response. Doctor Hawkes went back to his backpack and brought it to the other side. He pulled out a long nasal tube and my eyebrows shot up in fear. The fuck is that? I mean, I know what it is, but that's going up my nose? To my stomach? I wish I was strong enough to eat the damn cereal.

"It won't take long okay?" Doctor Hawkes assured. "Close your eyes and hold on to Terrances hand."

I did as instructed, shutting my eyes to a room of darkness and holding onto Terrance tightly once I felt Doctor Hawkes push the tube up nasal cavity. I could feel it slide down my throat but after the initial intrusion I couldn't really feel it anymore.

"You can open your eyes now," Doctor Hawkes said with a smile. I did as instructed and watched him tape the remaining end of the tube to my cheek.

"This is weird," I said darting my eyes between Doctor Hawkes and Terrance.

"Nah no weirder than half the shit I'm sure he got to deal with," Terrance said with a smile, pulling me into a hug while gesturing to Hawkes.

"What was your weirdest case?" he asked with a grin.

Hawkes smiled, pulling out a plastic bag from his backpack along with two protein shakes

"Well, that depends. Weirdest case or weirdest body?"

"Both," I said smiling, feeling the tape tug at my cheek.

"There was a man named Shane Casey, and he would go around and kill certain people and leave them in shirts with codes he designed. He beheaded one, tore the eyeballs out of another." Hawkes said nonchalantly while pouring the shakes into the plastic bag, which I assume will be attached to the tube on my cheek.

I cocked an eyebrow and looked to Terrance, "that's some white folks shit," he said laughing and turning back to Doctor Hawkes, "folks in the hood don't be doing all that shit."

I laughed agreeing with him, "yea man, sure some gang stuff can get pretty crazy and damn a drive by here or there but none of that twisted ass shit."

Hawkes smiled and held up the plastic bag, "Terrance, do you have anything tall I can hook this to?"

He looked around, taking his arm off my shoulder and yelled "ah ha!" while jumping up and walking to a game rack next to the TV. "If she's sitting this should be high enough," he said smiling and bringing the rack over.

"Okay, JJ I want you to lay back on the couch and relax, like you would if you were watching TV."

I nodded, sitting up and covering my legs self consciously with a blanket, somehow feeling too vulnerable and exposed without it. Doctor Hawkes connected the the bag to my tube, and immediately I felt a cold substance drain through my nose and down the back of my throat into the small pit of my stomach. I could already feel myself becoming uncomfortably full.

"Not too bad right?" Doctor Hawkes asked with a smile.

I shook my head trying to get use to the sensation and hide my discomfort. Terrance patted my leg then looked to Doctor Hawkes, "anything else she needs?" His voice was soft and I don't think I've ever heard anything so comforting. As cliche as it sounds, it really did send shivers running down my spine. You could hear the genuine concern he had, it wasn't just a front. It was real, this is real, and it seems so straightforward but its still so fucking confusing.

I guess being cared for after being forgotten for so many years would feel foreign.

Doctor Hawkes shook his head, "I'll leave the rest of the shakes for the next two days. I'll come back and see her then, call me if anything comes up," he said handing Terrance his card.

"Thanks man," Terrance said with a smile and slapping Hawkes hand.

Hawkes smiled, "least I could do," he then turned to me, "JJ just relax. Let your body rest and get some sleep okay?"

I smiled back at Doctor Hawkes, "bet."

Me and Terrance were left with our own accords.

"Mind if I smoke?" Terrance asked grinning and holding up a nicely rolled blunt.

I smiled back at him, half hoping he'd let me get a hit, "I don't have a problem, but I'm not sure Detective Flack wouldn't approve."

"Nah man, Flack gave up on arresting folks on this side for weed," he put the blunt in his mouth while he talked and lit up. He sat back on the pull out bed next to me, and passed it to me, "here, it might help your stomach handle the food."

"Thanks," I smiled and took a hit.

Marijuana always helped me, both mentally and physically. There were times when I would get really bad, times where the cuts on my arms were the least of my worries. Times where I would never trust myself in a train station.

Weed helped me though, it made me calm down, and I felt a lot better. Like there wasn't a problem in the world and all the sadness inside me drained away and went out with the smoke I exhaled.

When I'm high I feel infinite.

Terrance smiled at me, "does that hurt?" he asked pointing to the tube.

I shook my head, "not really, it's just cold and uncomfortable."

"Yea, I get that. But at least now you don't gotta worry about forcing down a sandwich."

I shrugged, taking a hit, feeling bad. It's such a simple thing, and I hate that I can't _just eat._

"So, why though is it hard for you to eat?" he asked softly placing a comforting hand on my knee.

"I don't really know, I just feel out of control I guess."

He smiled and adjusted his position, sitting up and tossing a limp arm around my shoulder, "yea I can see that."

I smiled at him, becoming comfortable with his embrace and the warmth that radiated through his shirt.

It was silent for a bit, the only noise the TV, but we were only half paying attention to it. I felt safe, his arm around me protecting me, not from the dangers of the street, he knows I can handle that, but doing his best to protect me from the demons inside my head. The after effect of the streets is far more detrimental.

I felt myself start to drift off, my body still weak from both exhaustion and starvation. With his warm embrace around me, I dozed off, my head resting in the crevice between his neck and shoulder, and my body curled up against his.

Shit in my life and the demons in my head finally felt at peace.

I woke up feeling cold, my head now resting against the back of the couch, and two blankets tucked around me. The TV was on low and the only light was coming from the kitchen. I stood up- Terrance must have disconnected the the bag from the feeding tube- drew the blankets like a cape around my shoulders and walked towards the kitchen, where Terrance and Detective Flack were sitting at the table eating fast food.

"How you feeling?" Flack asked me, a fry hanging from his lips.

I shrugged, walking over and sitting down next to Terrance, "I'm fine."

Terrance put his arm around my shoulder and grinned, "yea she been straight."  
"Whats going on with the investigation?" I asked.

"We have two men in custody while the lab runs their DNA. I've been pushing the main Detective on the case, Mac, to gather enough evidence so you don't have to be put on the stand."

I nodded, "thank you. I think the defense would eat me alive."

"Alright," he said wiping his hands with a napkin and standing up, "I gotta get home, but I'll come back by tomorrow," he looked to Terrance, "make sure she does another feeding tonight."

Terrance smiled, "yea yea Flack, Hawkes left all the instructions don't worry."

Flack smirked, "stay out of trouble."

Terrance smirked back, "yea yea Flack go catch a murderer," he said laughing.

Flack waved them off, "I'll see you tomorrow," he smiled, glanced between Terrance and I, and let himself out.

I looked to Terrance, his arm was still around me and he was smiling.

"What?" I asked feeling my cheeks go red. Blushing? Since when in the hell do I blush? And why is my heart skipping beats? And a warm shiver running through my body? What the fuck? I've never felt like this before, and I'm not sure whether I should be happy or scared shitless or both.

"What?" I asked, still blushing and unable to refrain from laughing.

"Nothing," he said grinning and shaking his head, "you just got really pretty eyes."

I smiled embarrassed, unsure how to respond, "thank you." I couldn't maintain eye contact and turned to look at the food in front of me.

He let out a happy sigh, patted my shoulder, and got up, "imma get your feeding ready, go back and chill and I'll be there in a minute."

"You sure I can't help-"

And again, I could barely finish my sentence, "nah seriously, I'll let you help out when your body is stronger." He picked up the fast food wrappers and smiled at me, "I think Fresh Prince starts at 7."

I nodded, "okay". I got up and, looked at him for a moment finding comfort and reassurance in his eyes, and turned back to the living room.

Even with his comforting words and reassuring gestures, I still feel a massive amount of guilt on my shoulders. Everything in my head is a contradiction and I don't know what to do or what to believe anymore. I feel guilty for eating, I feel guilty for not eating, I even feel guilty for feeling guilty.

I'm so confused and nothing makes sense and I'm so fucking tired of these random waves of sadness and guilt coming over me even though I have everything to be thankful for. It's like a Tsunami of emotion just randomly decided to come forth and I feel like I'm drowning and a rather large part of me wishes that I never learned how to swim.

Sitting on the couch I tried to breathe and focus my attention on the TV, trying not to think too much of anything. He doesn't feel like he has to do this, he said he wanted to. I can keep telling myself that all day and night, but a part of me will never seem to believe it.

Maybe it's because of all the years I spent alone with nobody giving me a second glance or acknowledging my existence unless it was to drop a quarter or two into my tip jar.

It's hard to believe that some cares about you- especially someone you just met a few days before- when you've spent your whole life being told that you're worthless and unlovable.

When you're told something over and over, I promise you will start to believe it.

Terrance came back holding the feeding bag filled with whatever protein shakes Doctor Hawkes was having me take.

He smiled softly and walked over, "it's the last one."  
I smiled back, "thanks."

He hooked it onto the game stand and attached it to my tube. Immediately I felt the cold substance run into my body, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as the first time.

Terrance came over and sat down next to me, "everything's okay," he smiled, tossing an arm over me.

Even though I had just woken up, I felt my eyes begin to droop shut again, maybe when my body is stronger I'll be more awake.

My head rested onto Terrances chest, listening to his heart beat. It was a personalized song of life- everyone's heart beats differently, maybe the same general rhythm, but not the exact same beat.

I tried to match up mine with his, to see how in line they were. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that we live life to a similar rhythm, but it's so comforting to know that his personalized song of life sings in harmony with mine.

Two heart beats working as one, creating a peaceful lullaby that sung both him and I to sleep.


End file.
